


Movie Night

by elucidation



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Anxiety, Asshole Tyler, Biting, Denial, Frottage, Grinding, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mixed Signals, One-Sided Attraction, PWP, Panic Attacks, Pining, Self-Doubt, Shameless Smut, Top Tyler, Tour Bus, a whole lot, also i really like the word fuck, at least at first
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2019-08-21 15:28:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16579190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elucidation/pseuds/elucidation
Summary: Nope. He's not going anywhere. Not right now. Right now he's going to sit right the fuck here and definitely-not-watch his best friend get a handy from his wife. They're still silent, barely moving, even, but Josh's body is hyper aware of every shift. Every sigh wired right to his cock.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit nervous. There is much more to this story living in my head, so if you'd like to hear it, let me know. Hope you enjoy!

Josh loves watching movies. Well, no he doesn’t, but he loves watching them with Tyler.

It’s normally Tyler and Jenna’s thing, watching movies. After the show and showers they pile into the big bed at the back of the bus and that’s where they stay. Holed up and binging on who-knows-what, almost always falling asleep before the credits.

Sometimes Josh is invited, and that’s okay. It’s a nice gesture, and he appreciates the inclusion. He perches on the bench at the side of the room, knees to chest, and tries to pay attention, but mostly just watches his phone. He doesn’t have anything against movies, really, they just never hold his attention. He’ll look at the screen, look at his phone, look at Tyler, _look at Tyler_. Mind never slowing long enough to absorb enough dialogue to follow the plot.

And really it’s hard _not_ to look at Tyler from Josh’s vantage point. He practically has to look over top of the pair on the bed to see the screen mounted on the opposite wall. He might not like movies, but Tyler does, and there is something endearing about the way he becomes entranced, his reactions playing unfiltered across his face. Can Josh really help if he gets distracted?

It’s safer to read twitter, so that’s what he does when he’s invited to watch movies. He reads twitter and hugs his knees and takes cues from the other two on when to react.

Tonight they’re a few hours into one of the _Lord of the Rings_ movies _,_ all attempts at small talk long abandoned _._ Jenna is extra cuddly with Tyler and Josh is working his way through the trending page, stifling a yawn. He’d forgotten how long these movies were. Normally he’d be back in his bunk already, but it’s Jenna’s last night on the road for a while and she’d made a big deal about him hanging with them, so he’s putting in extra time.

He’s entertaining thoughts of retiring to his bunk when Tyler’s head thumps against the wall. Josh’s eyes snap up. Tyler’s eyes are closed, legs bent in front of him, and Jenna’s pressed against his side under their blanket, only her messy bun visible above the mass of fluffy white. It’s how they’d been laying, except now there is no movie watching happening. Now Tyler’s eyes are closed and his head is tilted upwards leaving his whole neck exposed, his face relaxed into the most awed expression Josh has ever seen.

Josh swallows hard, transfixed by the line of Tyler’s jaw. He wonders what it would feel like to bite, how the stubble would feel against his lips. He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes travel down, following the line of Tyler’s neck past where his Adam’s apple is working. He imagines the way that skin would taste under his tongue, the sounds he’d earn from his teeth scraping the flesh. His eyes continue down along the line of Tyler’s body to his lap where, _oh_ _fuck._ Josh’s cock jumps.

There’s movement. It's only a hint of movement, but it's _right there_. You wouldn’t be able to tell unless you were paying attention, but Josh is. He wasn’t before but now he couldn’t look away if he fucking tried. He should definitely look away. What is he doing?

What are _they_ doing? One hundred percent Jenna’s hand is on Tyler’s cock, arm movement barely visible between the fluffy blankets and bent knees, and _holy shit._ He didn't think she had it in her. Wholesome, happy Jenna with the big eyes and the church family. I mean obviously they do these kinds of things, but not in front of _him_.

But they are. She is. And she must be doing a bang up job by the look on Tyler's face. His eyes are squeezed together, pink lips parted around quick breaths, and Josh watches in slow motion as Tyler draws his bottom lip between his teeth. _Fuck,_ those lips _._ So good. He looks so good biting his lip like that, and somehow even better when they’re parting again, wetter, redder than before.

Josh is captivated. He’s spent so many nights thinking about that mouth, how it would feel against his own. So many nights picturing those lips stretched around him as he brought himself over the edge. Josh is a terrible friend. He should go. He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. Looks at the screen, back at them, feels around for his phone. He's going to go, straightens his legs to stand. Tyler's hips jerk and Josh's heart leaps into his throat. _Shit_.

Nope. He's not going anywhere. Not right now. Right now he's going to sit right the fuck here and definitely-not-watch his best friend get a handy from his wife. They're still silent, barely moving, even, but Josh's body is hyper aware of every shift. Every sigh wired right to his cock.

But he's not watching them. Nope. Not pressing a palm into his own lap, suppressing a whine from the contact. Not daring to move it in time with Jenna. Tyler's mouth opens again, head tilting higher in a silent plea and oh god he looks perfect. Cheeks pink, mouth open, completely blissed out. Josh bites his own lip and presses harder, thinking about how pretty the tip of his cock would look rubbing along those lips.

He should go, he should go, _heshouldgo_. He shouldn’t be doing this -- doesn't do this. Doesn't stare like this. Doesn't think these thoughts. Especially not with Tyler right in front of him. He tries not to think them at all. Tyler is straight. Tyler is married. Tyler is his _best friend_ and these are definitely not best-friendly thoughts. But sometimes he can’t help it.

Sometimes, when Josh is desperate enough to hope for the impossible, he does think about Tyler. But that’s different, he tells himself. It’s not real. He wouldn’t entertain thoughts of actual real-life Tyler. Tyler with Jenna’s hand wrapped around his cock, mouthing silent prayers towards the sky. Josh shifts so he can grab himself fully through his sweats. He squeezes, breath hissing. It feels so good he does it again, and again and fuck this is so wrong.

He wouldn't put their friendship in jeopardy like this. He wouldn't.

No. Josh is watching a movie. He loves watching movies. He thinks this might be his favorite movie ever. Thinks Jenna might be his favorite person ever for inviting him, and most especially for the sighs she’s drawing from Tyler. Josh’s hand is moving in earnest with the sound of the other man’s breathing now, not even pretending to look away. Tyler’s face tightens, breath hitches, and Josh's hips flex up before he can stop it.

Fuck. Stay still, _staystill_. Josh isn't breathing, doesn't think he can. He almost whimpers from the look on Tyler’s face. He's close. Josh wants to remember this look forever. Can feel the warmth spreading through his own thighs as he watches Tyler's expression change. Tyler's not breathing either, his mouth opening wide as his back begins an arch, and when he finally does suck in a shaky breath Josh feels it consume him like fire. Want.

He feels it everywhere, licking at his core, clouding his vision.

In this moment he wants Tyler more than he’s ever wanted anything, and oh god he's an idiot. He is so fucking stupid. He’s got to go. He’s standing up, can barely think straight. Doesn’t matter. He’s on autopilot, grabbing blindly for his phone and taking one, two strides through the door, not daring to breathe until it's shut behind him. Then he’s gasping, sucking in huge gulps of air like he can’t get enough.

What the fuck, Josh? What the actual fuck? Get yourself together. Breathe. Walk.

He’s walking. Walking back to his bunk. Sliding in. Pulling the curtains closed and letting the darkness envelop him with a sigh. This is better. This is good. He can breathe here. No more movies or moving hands or mouthing prayers. Just the sound of his breathing and the sanctity of darkness.

He'll never be able to look Tyler in the eyes again. And Jenna! Freaking Jenna just going for it like Josh wasn’t sitting right there the whole time! And, sure, he could have left. Cracked a joke about them getting their own room like a normal person, but.. Well it’s kind of her fault, really, because if Tyler wasn’t making that _face…_

Josh squeezes his eyes shut, trying to undo what he just did because wow. That was _wow._ He is a terrible person, but that’s the single best thing that’s happened to him this entire year.

He is so fucked.

His heart is pounding, blood thrumming in his ears, moving under his skin like a current. Want. It's palpable. He can taste it on his tongue, feel it pooling beneath his navel. Want and guilt and Tyler fucking Joseph. Josh’s hands are moving by themselves again, shoving pants down hips and wrapping tightly around warm flesh, unhindered by fabric for the first time that night.

He resists the urge to moan, to move faster. Instead putting all of his focus into breathing slow and steady breaths. Pushing and squeezing and replaying every detail behind his eyelids. The flush of Tyler’s cheeks. His wet lips and gasps and the way his hips jerked up. A low whine comes from somewhere deep in Josh’s chest and he can’t stop it this time. He sounds completely wrecked, and something about the sound snaps whatever modicum of control he had.

Yeah, it’s wrong, but he doesn’t fucking care. Not one bit. He’s going under and it feels amazing, slipping into his imagination, movements a blur. There is lotion in his palm now and he’s full on thrusting, panting, whining, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that every thought of Tyler washes over him like a wave of exhilaration and he is drowning, gasping for air, face barely above water. And maybe he doesn’t want to breathe? Maybe all he wants is to chase this feeling until it’s everywhere. Until there is nothing else but the burn in his thighs and the taste of Tyler on his lips and _fuck._

He’s gone, tipping over the edge.

Barely registers that he’s said it out loud, barely registers anything at all over the whir of blood in his ears and thoughts of Tyler thrusting into his mouth. Oh god he wants that. He shouldn’t, but he does and this feeling is everything, everywhere at once. He doesn’t know which way is up. Doesn’t want to.

Doesn’t care.

Josh lays there forever, maybe. All heavy limbs and deep breaths, trying to calm himself down. His mind is numb. It’s nice to pretend that everything is okay. That he didn’t cross a line tonight. That he doesn’t want Tyler like he does. That he’s not a terrible friend. He’s determined to lay there and pretend for as long as he can because tomorrow?

Tomorrow scares the shit out of him.


	2. Chapter 2

When Josh wakes the next afternoon it's with a lump in his throat and dread pooled in his belly. The bus is parked and completely empty. Thank Christ. He’s never been so relieved to be alone. They’re probably off dropping Jenna at the airport, giving him all the time in the world to stare blankly into his cereal and get a fucking grip.

There is so much to process.

The silence is too loud, allowing a dangerous amount of space for his thoughts to roam. They're rushing and twisting and jumbling all together in the emptiness and Josh has no fucking clue how to untangle them. Where to even begin. He's got to calm down. Put one foot in front of the other, like his Mom's always saying. “You can only take one step at a time, Joshua.”

She’s right. Slow. Down.

Nothing had to change, really. He could just act normal. He’d been doing it for this long, right? I mean, honestly what happened wasn’t even that big of a deal. Okay, so two adults did some very adult things together, and he happened to be in the same room.

 _..masturbating_.

Ugh. He’s a fucking mess. It’s not like they even knew he saw, though. They definitely didn’t know that something had shifted inside him, knocked askew just enough that the mere thought of facing Tyler had him in a panic.

It’s going to be fine.

He spends the afternoon chasing his thoughts and repeating this mantra. It’s going to be fine. _It's going to be fine._ Right? Last night was weird, but it was going to be fine. He just needs to stop thinking so damn much about everything. No. What he needs to do is get out of this fucking bus. There isn't enough space at all, and increasingly less oxygen.

He needs to move. Is overcome with the urge to do so  _n_ _ow_. In the next moment he’s pulling on his Nikes, grabbing ear buds, and getting the fuck _out._  As soon as his nose meets fresh air he’s running. Hard. And then harder, pushing his legs faster every time he wants to slow down.

It's going to be fine.

He's blasting music and discarding thoughts one by one by one until he’s left with just the metronome of his heart pounding steadily against his ribcage. The only other sound is of his feet plodding along below him. Nothing compares to this freedom. His muscles are screaming, slick with sweat, and he's _soaring_. He could spend forever in this moment, reveling in the control he feels.

A few hours later he’s walking out of his dressing room, hair dripping water, brain clouded with endorphins. _It's going to be fine_ , he thinks, moving towards the stage. _I can do this_. Josh turns the corner, invincible, and his heart stops dead in his chest. Fuck, _nope._ Abort mission! He pivots, marching an about-face right back from where he came.

He almost gets away with it.

“Josh! They won’t _fucking_ let me climb!” Tyler gestures him over to where he stands with half a dozen crew members huddled around.

Josh freezes, weighing the consequence of continuing on like he hadn’t heard. It’s not fine. This is _not_ fine. He swallows, teetering on the spot. For one, Tyler is pissed. His tone dripping with animosity. He’s even standing like he’s irritated, shoulders taut, back straight. And for two? It’s _really_ fucking attractive.

Josh lets out a puff of air. Of course he’s going to walk over, he’s under no illusion about his ability to deny Tyler Joseph. He’s less sure about his ability to breathe evenly at the moment.

Hesitantly, he joins the semicircle, fascinated by a smudge on the sole of his shoe. Tyler is being over-assertive and something about the edge in his voice tugs steadily at Josh’s control. He wants to look up, wants to see so bad. Can imagine the set of his jaw, even. But he’s not ready. A familiar pressure seeps into his chest, every word from Tyler spreading, squeezing against his ribcage. He needs to _breathe._

It’s going to be fine. This isn’t rational. Snap out of it. He _knows_ he’s not being rational, but logic doesn’t matter. Unlike the pace of his run, he has no jurisdiction here. There is a second smudge on the opposite side of his shoe, he notes, desperately engrossed in the details. Anything to help turn the dial of Tyler’s voice down to background noise.

It's going to be fine, he breathes, considering his new found interest in sneakers. He's being ridiculous. It’s just Tyler. Tyler who doesn’t even know what happened.

Just when he’s starting to relax, something -- someone -- is nudging his shoulder and _shit_. The panic is back. Glancing behind him he finds Mark nodding forward, and without needing to look he knows exactly who he’ll find there.

The weight presses heavier. He wants to run. Doesn't. Instead his eyes begin the trek up to meet Tyler’s for the first time since.. _fuck_. They’re so _brown_. Josh swallows, trying valiantly to suppress the fire crawling up his spine. It stays burning, spreading through his nerve endings and threatening to engulf him whole. He skips a breath, the heat coloring his cheeks enough to warm the entire room.

“Josh?” Tyler’s eyes are shining, so _so_ brown. Josh can only think about the burning. Tyler dips his head, encouragingly. He looks expectant. Is he.. fuck is Josh supposed to say something?

“I.. I’m sorry?”

“Are you okay, man?”

“Am I.. oh. Yeah. Sorry I’m just..off. I don’t know.” _It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine._

Tyler laughs, smile wide. “Yeah, we noticed,” he teases.

It's easy to smile back. Shrug, a little sheepish. It's just Tyler, he laughs.

It’s going to be fine.

 

* * *

 

Soundcheck goes by in a blur. Josh is in his head. Tyler is in full on perfectionist mode, set off by being told _no._ He just stopped in the middle of a song and Josh feels kind of bad for whoever it is he’s going in on. Kind of. It’s fascinating, really, the way Tyler’s mind works. The details he notices that others miss.

He commands every room so effortlessly.

Josh could never be that brave, that’s part of what attracted him to Tyler. He was the first person Josh had ever met who wasn’t afraid to say exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted to. That kind of fearlessness was infectious.  Confidence seeped off of him and onto everything he came in contact with. The night Josh met Tyler is the first time he dared to believe that, yeah, he could do this. Music. And not as a hobby or a backup plan, but for real.

And fuck the way he did music was unlike anything Josh had ever seen. It made him dizzy, watching Tyler, like that feeling you get after a first kiss. Enthralled, wanting more. Except it didn't go away. Josh had always been too trapped in his head to let go, but the longer he watched Tyler, the more his inhibitions slipped away.

All these years later Josh is still just as captivated. Tonight he’s barely aware of anything _but_ Tyler while they’re on stage.

Tucked behind his drums he feels safe, invisible. Tyler showed him that the stage could be that place for him. A respite. Here Josh can leave everything else behind and just be. He doesn’t have to think if he doesn’t want. Doesn’t have to worry if he doesn’t want. On stage all he has to do is close his eyes and lose himself in the music.

Tonight, however, his eyes are wide open, just as enchanted as the fans. It’s okay, though, because Tyler’s The Lead Singer, contractually obligated to be the center of attention. Everyone watches Tyler. So when Josh joins them he’s just one of the crowd. Never mind the butterflies in his stomach or the fact that he can’t look away.

 

* * *

 

Later that night they’re back in the same room with the big bed, watching the same movie. Or maybe it’s a different one? Josh doesn’t fucking know. All of those movies look the same. Hobbits. War. Big sweeping shots of New Zealand. He tries to perch in his corner again but Tyler isn’t having any part of it.

“Who am I supposed to cuddle with, Josh?” He wiggles his eyebrows, patting the mattress beside him.

He sighs. Tyler's not joking. He doesn’t bluff. He might smile and laugh but Josh knows him well enough to know when he asks for something, he wants it. Their thighs are pressed together before Josh has even finished sliding under the covers. Red against black. It feels nice.

“Good boy,” chides Tyler, once Josh is settled.

“Fuck you, man.”

“Maybe after the movie,” Tyler doesn't miss a beat. He winks, squeezing Josh’s knee, and looks back at the screen.

The fire is back in his cheeks. _It’s going to be fine,_ he breathes.

Except he might actually die. Especially if Tyler does shit like this all night, pressed right up against him. Josh doesn’t even have his phone to distract himself. Awesome.

This movie is going to be great.

Josh _loves_ watching movies. Especially with Tyler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was all one big transition, huh? I just had to get it out of my drafts before I drove myself crazy! Hope you enjoy!


	3. Chapter 3

_Maybe after the movie._ Josh hates him so much.

Tyler’s hand is still on his leg, eyes glued to the screen. It’s warm. And Josh is trying to watch, he really is, but despite his best effort, he hasn’t a clue what’s going on. How do people keep track when half of the characters look the same? Tyler’s thumb is dragging along the outside seam of his sweats, back and forth.

He missed this.

This is normal. Shit, this is mild compared to some of the ways they’ve draped across one another over the years. He misses the comfort. When Jenna is there it’s not as if things are different, per se, but they aren’t the same. They are still close, just after the “I do’s” something shifted. The touches aren’t nearly as comfortable with her around. As frequent.

Josh doesn’t complain. He’s glad for the two of them.

He spends his newfound alone time compensating for the loss with his own touch. It becomes routine. They have movie nights, he becomes hooked on dopamine-laced sleep. It’s not even about anything more than the chase of release until one night, opening himself up, the thought of Tyler flashes white-hot and uninvited. After that it’s not about much else. Tyler's teeth sinking into his shoulder. Tyler's mouth wet-hot against his neck. Guilt feels a lot like adrenaline, Josh discovers. He becomes hooked on that, too.

He's gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing. _T_ _hat_ Tyler is for him only, and this Tyler, the one sitting next to him, is not. This is nice, though, sitting together. It feels familiar. Just two bros being bros, casually watching _The Return of the Two Towers_ , or whatever. So when Tyler slides down the bed and rests his head where Josh's hip meets thigh, it's no big deal. Just Tyler being Tyler.. in his lap. Josh’s shoulders tense where they rest against the headboard, trying to think of anywhere else to look but down to where Tyler is, completely unbothered. His eyes stay trained on the screen as he flattens his back, crisscrossing his legs in front of him. Every once in a while he mouths along with a line or two. The picture of focus. Josh can see everything from up here, flickering across Tyler’s features. Itches to know what his palm would feel like sliding down his cheek to cup his jaw.

This isn't gonna work.

“Ty, move. I need to get my phone,” Josh says, deciding anywhere else to focus is a must.

Tyler doesn’t look away from the screen. “And _ignore_ me?” He sounds offended.

“You’re watching a movie.”

 _"We're_ watching a movie.” Tyler insists, oblivious.

Josh rolls his eyes. “ _You’re_ watching a movie. _I_ don’t even know what it’s called.”

“Josh, can you stop talking?”

"I swear to god I wi--" Two of Tyler’s fingers press against his mouth. _This motherfucker._

Tyler hisses, “Shhhhh,” and Josh’s eyes slide closed. _Uuugh._

“I hate you so much,” he mutters. What a son of a bitch. Josh would be mad -- is mad -- but his attention is derailed by the feel of his lips against Tyler’s skin, tingling where his words made contact. He wants to taste. It wouldn’t take much to open his mouth and close his lips around the fingertips there, pulling their warm pressure along his tongue. _Fuck._ The thought of Tyler in his mouth. Josh’s head tips back just a fraction and Tyler’s fingers slide down, down, catching on his bottom lip, and away.

 _No,_ he wants to whine. He misses them instantly. Opens his eyes to find them resting on Tyler’s chest, and before he can talk himself out of it, he’s reaching and covering them with his own, breath caught in his throat as he braces for a reaction. He can’t move. This was a terrible idea and he’s frozen to the spot.

 _One. Two. Three_ full heartbeats pass in silence. He can’t think, is trying to think of a way to play this off, but then Tyler’s moving, fingers spreading and squeezing Josh’s between them and _god yes_. His eyes close and his heart might come out of his chest. He didn’t know what he expected, but this calm acceptance is almost too much. He draws in slow, grounding breaths. It’s too much and it’s not enough and it’s exactly what he needs. His head is swimming.

His eyes stay closed and for a long, long time he’s just breathing. The way their fingers are laced feels incredible. When he finally gazes down at Tyler his expression is relaxed, focused on the movie as if it were his first viewing, and how _Tyler_ of him. Josh smiles, warmth blooming in his chest at the familiarity of it all. Just two boys, watching a movie and enjoying each other's company. The room is dark except for the screen, and Tyler’s eyes sparkle in the changing light. If Josh looks close enough he can almost make out the picture reflecting across their glossy brown surface. Instead he lets his eyes close again.

He’s quickly remembering the appeal of movie night.

When Josh wakes up to tented sweats and Tyler using his abdomen as a pillow, neither of them mentions it. They have captain crunch for breakfast, and later, under the spray of the shower, Josh imagines Tyler’s hand in place of his own.

 

* * *

 

The next movie night comes two days later, same time, same place. Same Tyler curled against Josh’s side with some epic battle for Middle Earth unfolding on screen. They kind of just fell into bed like this. Well, Josh fell into bed and Tyler made jokes and army crawled to lay half on top of him after pressing play. Once Josh recovers his only complaint is that it’s harder to sneak glances in this position. He's closest to the screen so he has to act a lot more interested in the movie than he wants to.

This go-round he’s getting better at keeping track of the characters, at least. Aragorn, the dark haired one, is some kind of King and the talking tree is a good guy. He’s not sure of much else except the warmth radiating from Tyler’s arm where it’s draped across his middle. It’s hard to think over _holy-shit-he-feels-so-good_.

Josh’s own arm is resting across Tyler’s shoulders, fingers tracing outlines of ink as nonchalantly as he can manage. It took a solid twenty minutes to work up the nerve to move his arm around Tyler. Another ten was spent not-staring at his tattoos before finally ghosting his fingers across them. The sigh that comes from Tyler once he does echoes in his chest with a squeeze.

It's grounding, actually, having somewhere to focus that’s not his face.

It’s near impossible not to stare at Tyler like this, unplugged from his normal filters and so, so reactive. Being pressed against him only amplifies the urge. Josh resists, rubs a pattern, counts heartbeats, resists. When lips open with a pop he dares to let his gaze wander. Dares to let his gaze linger on wet lips and wide eyes and long, lean lines of tan skin. Tyler’s hair tickles his jaw and he’s just engrossed enough to reach up and twirl a lock between his fingers. It’s soft. Tyler moves into the touch. Josh wants more. Wants to sink his fingertips down to the scalp and _pull_. Wants to hear Tyler's breath hitch, to look right into his eyes and stretch his neck taut.

He feels a twitch in his lap and he wants, he _wants_.

He wants but he shouldn’t and he _can’t_ and he’s so fucked up. He sighs and Tyler shifts and Josh spends the rest of the movie desperately convincing his body that this is platonic.

 

* * *

 

With Jenna gone the tradition continues with just the two of them. Tyler picks the movie, Josh pretends to watch. Neither of them talks about the way every night finds them in a new variation of entwined. Tyler’s leg looped over Josh’s, Josh's head against Tyler's chest, slowly there is more and more contact and Josh slips further and further under. Sure, during the day he acts like nothing is different, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Unfiltered Tyler is quickly becoming another addiction, and Josh is slowly coming apart.

The next time Tyler is behind him, breath ghosting over his neck, Josh has no idea what movie is on, what time it is, what state he’s in. All he knows is the windows are dark and Tyler’s entire chest is pressed against his back and _holy fuck_ he could cry. He’s going to cry. His whole body is humming with tension that he has no way to release. Tyler isn’t even doing anything except existing, but Josh’s eyes stay squeezed shut. It’s a lot. Every shift, every sigh, moves through him like a current. The bus _bumps_ and they _press_ and Josh _whines_ , high and soft and overwhelmed.

Fucking _fuck_. He bites his own arm, cutting off the sound. Maybe if he’s quiet enough he can pretend he didn’t make it, pretend he’s not even here. He should explain, do anything other than lay frozen, skin humming. He’s going to die like this, waiting for Tyler’s response. It wouldn’t be the worst way to go. If Tyler hears he doesn’t mention it, just lays behind Josh content as ever, watching his movie or plotting Josh’s demise or _something like that._ His thumb is resting against a stripe of skin above Josh‘s hip bone and it _burns_ and Josh _wants._ Every so often Tyler rubs and the hum gets louder and Josh is a fucking wreck.

This can’t be real, what’s going on. Josh, surrounded by Tyler’s touch, half-delirious. It’s not real. Tyler’s hand slides down against his abs and every muscle in Josh’s stomach jumps. He can’t breathe. Tyler’s hand splays against his skin and warmth ripples through him like a current. Josh _gasps,_ mouth wide. _Tyler._ He can feel Tyler. Tyler’s breath against his neck -- in, out, in -- and he tries to focus on, to focus on anything but he wants, and he _wants_ and everything _hums_ and Tyler pulls Josh’s hips back and they’re _pressing everywhere_ and _holy fucking shit._

Josh makes a choked sound in his throat.

Tyler fucking _chuckles_ , low and amused behind his ear. “This okay?” he breathes, tugging again. Josh moans, hips arching back on their own and Tyler is _right there_ against him. _Ohmygod_ _._ What the fuck are they doing? They can’t.. He can’t.. The thought surges through his veins, adrenaline pumping. He clenches his eyes and shifts into Tyler’s touch where it’s smoothing along his ribs. They _can’t_ but they _are_ and when Tyler’s lips start working against his neck the humming takes over. It’s loud and it’s warm and it makes everything feel so, so good.

Too good.

Tyler’s hands are everywhere, moving over his chest, pressing into his hip, rocking them together, together, together. Josh is gasping into the touch, can barely process. His head is spinning, held in place with a hand in his hair and Tyler’s lips worrying over a spot below his jaw. Josh starts to whine and Tyler’s teeth sink into muscle and fingers pull from the root and white explodes behind Josh’s eyelids, everywhere, _everywhere_ is humming and he’s so relaxed and he can’t move and _Tyler._

“Josh,” Tyler draws out the word, “so good, you’re so good,” he rocks, and soothes his tongue over the bite. In response Josh can only whine and be rocked and he never wants to do anything else. He’s on the edge, warmth spreading, and he hasn’t even been touched. Then Tyler’s mumbling “I’m gonna,” hand pressing lower, and Josh’s entire body bows into the touch, mouth wide and silent and he's  _gone._ Tyler's groaning and grinding his hips and tumbling after him.

Afterwards, they don't speak.

Josh doesn't mind. He can barely move, think, breathe. He falls asleep with Tyler’s arms around him and a smile on his lips and if he dreams he doesn't remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it takes me forever to update, and I'm sorry! Please accept this chapter as an apology! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving such sweet, sweet comments. You da real MVPs. <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.. surprise!! I didn't forget about this story! I just had lots of life things happen that slowed the creative process. Thank you so much for your patience!!
> 
> I wanted to give a big THANK YOU to my friend [rebelredchlorine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelredchlorine/pseuds/rebelredchlorine) for being there with me every step of the way! Also you can totally blame her for how mean Tyler is. Not my fault at all. Kthx.

When Josh opens his eyes he’s cold. The room is shadowy with moonlight filtering in and he’s alone, shivering on top of the duvet. The first thing he notices are his boxers clinging uncomfortably to his thigh, and it’s really fucking gross, to be honest.

He stumbles to the bathroom, pulls the thin aluminum door closed, and in a moment of pure intellect manages to blind himself with the overhead light. _Shit._ He rubs his eyes, working up the courage to open one again. Once he’s oriented he begins warming a washcloth, staring into the basin and letting the gravity of the night’s events sink in like the water absorbing into fabric.

 _Tyler,_ the thought flutters in his chest. That really happened. And God it was good, even if he had lasted all of about two seconds. Even if Tyler was gone when Josh woke up. That part wasn’t surprising. He knows his friend, the way he worships Jenna. Knows what they did wasn't okay, despite being incredible. Knows it will probably never happen again.

He also knows if it did he would let it with zero hesitation. In fact he can’t fucking wait. Has half a mind to find Tyler right now and devour him. Joshler is real, bitches! Ha.

He’s going to hell. If he’s sure of anything, it’s that. He’s going to hell and he wants more than anything for this to be more than a mistake. To be able to find Tyler right now and share whatever space he’s in. A guy can dream.

Go to bed, Josh. Let yourself enjoy it for one fucking night before you pull it apart. It’s too late to think anyway. He finishes washing and feels his way down the dim hall to his bunk, one hand clutching his soiled boxers. Once inside he curls into his blanket and finds himself studying what he can barely make out to be the grey upholstery on the wall. It goes on forever, dimple after dimple, in a perfectly predictable pattern. He breathes deeply, letting his eyes roam the texture and remembering the warmth of Tyler’s hands.

 

* * *

 

Morning is announced by way of video game music and cursing. Filtering in from the kitchen area are the distinct sounds of Donkey Kong Country and a tilted Tyler Joseph. It’s loud, but just far enough away that the words aren't distinguishable. Bus bunks are weird like that. You can feel like you’re right in the middle of everything and in solitude at the same time. He kind of likes the faux-company.

Josh stretches, lips spreading into a smile at Tyler and his stupid games. His neck is sore when he pulls it taut and the twinge ignites memories from last night. God what a way to wake up. He moves his hand to the spot and presses, biting his lip. He can almost feel the shape of teeth again, the shiver down his spine from callous fingers dragging over thinly covered bone. His dick twitches and he applies more pressure. Fuck. He’s so fucked.

And turned on, apparently.

Thankful for the privacy, he lets a hand trail down his stomach and squeeze. _Hnnnh,_ he groans softly. Gives a halfhearted pull from the base of his cock. It’s been a while since he’s woken up this hard, head still hazy with dreams. He loves it, burrows into it, warm and cozy. Keeps his grip loose and his eyes closed and enjoys the languorous slide of skin against skin.

His other fingers take their time circling around the place where Tyler bit, drawing lazy figure eights that pass closer to its center each time. The lingering aches in the days after have always been a guilty pleasure. A silent reminder of shared sin. The fact that no one else knows makes the pangs that much more erotic. Every throb taking him back, making him feel used and illicit and ready to do it all over again.

He's toying with himself. Making it a game as he ghosts nearer to the spot. Closer each time. More pressure. He adds lube to his other fist, pace quickening with each stroke. He takes his time drawing it out, pressing his neck and pulling his cock and letting himself be lulled into the pain-pleasure of it all.  

Tyler shouts from somewhere far away, but Josh neither hears nor cares what he’s saying. Can hardly hear at all over the sound of his own breathing. He wonders if Tyler had known? Known that he saw. Known how much he was wanted. Had he been thinking about Josh, too? He tries to remember something that might point to that. Anything from last night that stood out. “So good, you’re so good,” Tyler had said. Fuuuck.

He wants to be good again.

He drags two fingers down hard, close enough to the pain to make his hips buck. Does it again. Tries to breathe steady through the tremble in his thighs.

He wants more. Slides his fingers around, his hand faster. A deliberate press into the pain pulls a whine from his chest, whiting out the edges of his vision. He’s whimpering, eyes rolling back, strokes speeding after unsteady hips. And he can't stop pressing, lifting, pressing again -- he grits his teeth, pulsing his fingers and washing in the pain as it swirls and coils between his hips.

His coordination falls away in pieces as the pressure builds, twisting until it’s tight enough to snap. Then it’s crashing in, over him, over everything. Overwhelmed, his body curls into itself, muscles spasming, come coating his abdomen as warmth drowns his senses.

And he lets it. He loves it. He soaks it in, all still and shaky breaths. He stays like that for a while, hand cradling his soaked cock, letting his body slowly unfurl. When he’s pushing a heavy arm around for something to clean up with he’s grateful that three a.m. Josh brought his dirty boxers back to bed.

 

* * *

 

Josh sits on the faded red couch next to Tyler when his cereal is gone. He’s still playing video games. Josh doesn’t know what to say. What comes out is “We need more Pops,” simple and direct. Cereal is important around here. He’s not sure how close he should sit, either, so he probably sits too far away.

Well, he does, because immediately after he’s settled he wishes they were touching. Normally they would be, but a gap is good. If Tyler wants to be closer to him, he can make that call. Same as if he wants to answer him, he will. Normally Tyler would. He’d give him shit for being so silent or staring too much or for eating three bowls of cereal in one go.

He doesn’t, though, and the minutes stretch slowly between them. Instead of asking something else Josh stares at his knees and questions every decision he’s made in his entire life. Why did he choose the drums? Why did he join this band? Why did they decide they needed a bus all to themselves? Why did he try to talk to Tyler when he was gaming? Why did he fuck around with him to begin with? Why the fuck is he so stupid?

Moving. He needs to move. It’s the only way he won't fucking lose it. “I’m going to find somewhere to get snacks. You want something?” He asks, waiting way too long for a response. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t come.

Okay, _fine._ He stands in a huff, squeezing his eyes shut at the twinge in his neck. God damnit. Josh is way too sensitive for this shit.

He needs to go. Hopes Mark will go with because he doesn’t even know what state they’re in -- thinks it might be Tennessee. Mark will know, he knows everything. Mark is nice and safe and Definitely Not Tyler.

“Text me if you change your mind,” Josh says, already out the door.

Tyler never looks up from his game.

 

* * *

 

Hanging out with Mark is a good decision. They find a supermarket within walking distance of the venue, and it feels good. It feels good to stretch his legs and see new sights and breathe the fresh Smoky Mountain air. The grocery is part of a small strip of aging storefronts at the top of a hill. Set behind a mostly empty parking lot without obvious lighted signs, it looks forgotten, but the sign reads “Food Mart” and they don’t have anything better to do, so they approach.

“I don’t think it’s open,” Mark says, hands cupped around his eyes and pressed to the glass. The aisles are narrow and empty under the dim overhead lights. There isn’t a soul to be seen.

“Really?” Josh asks, heading for the entrance. When he reaches the door it pulls toward him easily. A bell chimes from overhead. “Looks open to me,” he cocks his chin toward the aisles, breathing in the thick scent of non-circulated air. Apparently they don’t have patrons _or_ air conditioning at Food Mart.

Mark isn't convinced. Ever the skeptic, he doesn't take more than five steps inside the door until he spots a cashier sitting behind counter number four. She barely even glances over the book in her hand when Mark greets her, but it’s enough for him to stop being tentative.

 

* * *

 

“Mark, brace yourself. You’re not going to believe it, but they have your favorite: TuxedO’s!” Josh says, holding up a package of off-brand Oreo’s.

“Oh, man. Are you for real?” Mark turns, gripping his chest in mock-surprise.

“Don’t cry or anything, but yes. The one and only, one hundred percent authentic TuxedO’s, right here in the middle of nowhere, just for you,” Josh takes a knee to present the cookies, bowing his head in laughter. It’s easy to forget with Mark.

They thoroughly enjoy the next hour pouring over the off-brand contents of Food Mart's dilapidated shelves. Sore stomach muscles are a small price to pay for the level of epic pun-manship that they achieve. After arming themselves with more junk food than any two people rightfully need, they spend the rest of the afternoon thinking of stupid shit to do.

Mark has an idea for a stop-motion short where two gummy bears embark on a quest to climb a precariously high TuxedO tower in an effort rescue a comrade who is being held captive at the top by an evil gummy bear overlord. It’s just stupid and immersive enough to block everything else out, so that’s what they do. Frame by frame, they position gummy bears through the most important rescue mission in their colorful-gelatin lives, complete with an Epic Fight Sequence™.

It’s dumb and it’s great and it’s everything Josh needs this afternoon to be.

 

* * *

 

“Jenna wants to talk to you,” Tyler says, pushing into Josh’s dressing room unannounced. Mark is long gone by now, but the cookie tower remains, huge and partially destroyed against the wall nearest the entrance.

Josh meets his eyes, looks at the wall. His neck throbs. So _now_ he speaks _._ He wants to glare. Should probably ignore him. Instead he answers, “Nice to see you, too." The sarcasm is dripping. He checks to see if it registers. Tyler looks good. Black hoodie, black pants, messy hair. He looks tired, too.

And unbothered.

He doesn’t respond immediately, letting the door fall closed and making his way towards the TuxedO wreckage. “Jenna said she wants to talk to you," he repeats, squinting at the mess before choosing a cookie from the top of the pile.

“Hi Josh!” he hears from somewhere by Tyler’s hip. Shit. He hadn't noticed the phone before, but there it was, on its way towards him, Jenna on facetime right in the palm of Tyler’s hand. Okay, fuck. _Fuck_. Time to be mad later. Right now, he guesses he’s talking to Jenna.

"Uh, Hi Jenna," he raises an eyebrow at Tyler, who shrugs and plops down next to him. He presses his shoulder against Josh, who’s arm rests along the back of the sinking couch, then makes quite a fuss about stretching to position the screen where they can both see. He smells like fabric softener. Must have finally done laundry.

Jenna is squinting, sun reflecting off of already bright eyes, using her hand as a shade. It looks uncomfortable, but in typical Jenna fashion, she’s beaming. "I just wanted to check in and see how my other boy is doing! Tyler said you guys had a late night!"

"I.." Josh drops his eyes to his lap. _A late night._ "Um.. yeah,” he laughs. “I guess we did. Um. I’m okay, though. Tired.” _And I came with your husband, did he tell you?_ “I had a good day. How are you?" What the fuck is happening.

He looks at Tyler as Jenna is answering. What did he tell her? He smiles, almost shy, before smashing his face into Josh’s shoulder. Jenna laughs, asks how the movie was. He wouldn’t tell her _that,_ would he? Josh can’t breathe.

“The movie was uh… pretty boring, actually.” Jenna and Tyler burst into laughter, like his answer is the funniest thing they’d ever heard.

What. The fuck. Is happening.

 

* * *

 

Josh is sort of bewildered after the call. Tyler was being nice? Almost too nice. And Jenna kept smiling at him and joking about The Movie and how was The Movie and how does he like Watching Movies and Tyler was giggling and right up against him and Josh was trying not to fucking cry.

He’s still dazed as they’re going through soundcheck, because did Jenna know? Did Tyler tell her? Had this all been planned? If so, then why was Josh the last to know? Why had Tyler been so weird in the morning -- or maybe he really was just concentrating on his game and Josh is fucking crazy.

He’s not even looking at his drums, limbs moving on their own, thankful he’d played these songs enough for his mind to wander when it needed. Maybe he is crazy. None of this makes sense if he thinks about it. Yesterday he wouldn’t have bet even a dollar that Tyler was into him, let alone that Jenna was okay with it.

There’s just no fucking way.

He spots a moth fluttering wildly against the surface of a light. It bounces off as soon as it makes contact, tries again, determinedly unaware that it will never permeate the glass. He’s watching so intently that he completely misses his entrance.

“Fuck. Let’s just stop!” Tyler is yelling almost immediately. “Josh, what are you doing?”

The music cuts out and what feels like every single eye in the room turns to Josh. “I’m sorry, man. We can start again,” he offers, stacking his sticks together and bringing them, hand on each end, to rest on top of his head.

Tyler is pissed. Josh bites his lip and looks back up at the lights. He’s seen him upset on stage before, but not usually at him. Not so publicly, at least. It’s a lot hotter when it’s not directed at him. A lot less humiliating, too.

Great. This is great.

“There’s no point if your head’s not in it,” he says approaching Josh, who has no idea how to respond. Instead he counts Tyler’s footsteps as he walks to stand behind his set, taking his in-ears out on the way. He’s close, even closer when he steps onto the riser and into Josh’s space. Josh swallows, audibly. This shouldn’t be effecting him. Tyler waits for Josh to look up before he leans in, voice low and stern, and says, “Get your shit together before the show.”

And fuck him. Fuck him for calling Josh out. Fuck him for being a dick. And fuck if Josh doesn’t think about it for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

Once they’re offstage, sweaty and high on the momentum of the crowd, Josh is pinned to the wall, cheek pressed to the side, Tyler’s dick against the cleft of his ass.

Josh’s reaction is to completely forget how to do anything. He’s confused at first, but something about Tyler’s mouth on his neck makes his knees and brain go weak. Tyler's arms frame his waist, fingers sinking into flesh beneath hipbones and tugging Josh back into him, hard. “Ty,” he grunts, inhaling the smell of spit and sweat and cold cement block.

“Fuck,” Tyler breathes and grinds his hips, rough and insistent. Josh whimpers and Tyler bites, pulsing his jaw open and closed around the flesh. He’s sucking and chewing and grinding his hips and Josh’s senses are overwhelmed. His knees are buckling and he’s fucking mewling, hands pawing at the wall for purchase. It’s too fast, too much. Everything sounds far away, muffled by the thick cloud of want wrapped around his brain.

Tyler palms across his stomach, wants him closer, slides along the untouched skin beneath his waistband, lower, and Josh is whining higher. Tyler is kissing up his neck, wet and hot and breathing right against Josh's ear. "Josh," he kisses, hands caressing the soft insides of his thighs, "come here," he hums, palms sliding into the crease of his thighs.  
  
Josh's hips push into the contact, gasping "Please," dragging in a ragged breath, "please," he whines. Tyler uses the grip on Josh's thighs to pull him backwards again, hands squeezing before pressing higher. He can’t breathe. Tyler is everywhere and Josh lets himself be led -- held and pressed into and fucking mesmerized by the tongue twirling against his neck.

His body is relaxed and yearning and he wants to give, wants to taste. Wants anything Tyler wants. “Want you,” Tyler growls, hand wrapping around Josh’s cock. He’s going to pass out. The only thing grounding him is the cold cement against his face. “Wanna make you feel good,” Tyler pumps his hand and Josh whimpers, barely there.

The door begins to open and Tyler jumps away, leaping towards the exit. Josh is dimly aware that he’s talking to whoever was making their way inside. Holy shit that was close. Josh slides down the wall. Sits on the ground.

He wants.

He wants Tyler to come back, drags his eyes over to the door, searching. Tyler's eyes are dark when Josh finds them, glancing over his shoulder as he leaves, pulling the door closed behind him.

And wow, what an asshole.

Here lies Joshua Dun, abandoned in his time of need.

 

* * *

 

When the time comes where they’d normally retreat to the back of the bus, Tyler dives into his bunk without so much as a glance at the back bedroom.

Josh doesn't know how to ask why, so he doesn't.

He can't.

 

* * *

 

He can't sleep. He might be in shock, even, laying awake later and later, turning over the weight on his mind. His thoughts are churning and there's a pressure building behind his aching eyes. No matter how he readjusts he can’t figure out a way to distribute the weight. So it builds and it builds and his phone doesn’t help but he can’t put it down and he can't close his eyes and he's done the same social media circuit at least 100 times. Twitter. IG. Snapchat. IG. Twitter. Rinse. Repeat.

His legs won't stop shifting, aching, longing to be anywhere but trapped in this simmering psychosis. So he gets up before he bursts. Everything feels forbidden in the dark, even the short walk to the back room. His heartbeats weigh a ton, like he's sneaking out of his window and he doesn't want his mom to wake up. When he reaches the door he latches it as if it might break under his touch. Knowing his luck it will.

It smells like stale popcorn, slightly burnt and salty. His eyes pan the space, looking, searching. When they hit the heap of tangled white atop the bed he’s gliding over; instantly knows that’s what he came for. Wants to be inside. Underneath. Surrounded. Hot and sweaty and suffocating on recycled air. Hopes it will smell like Tyler. Hopes it won't.

So he climbs over and under and tucks himself the way his grandma used to when she would visit. She was the best at taco-tucks. Whenever she visited Josh would beg and beg that she be the one who put him down, even if he didn't need to. Even if he knew she always would. He'd beg and she'd agree and he'd leap onto his mattress. She'd follow with double tickles down both sides, shoving the blankets underneath him as she went.

That's what Josh does, so tight nothing can escape -- no air, no thoughts, no feelings, no sounds. And for a moment he just exists, alone with the nostalgia of it all. Of being a pink cheeked boy buried under his covers, more dreams than sense, starry eyed and empty still of all the disappointment that fills reality. And for a while, his fortress holds. The air is thick and reused and he’s okay.

He thinks idlelly of pulling out a corner to release some heat. Then he’s crashing, the space too small, the covers too wet, and he doesn't know what the fuck he did wrong because, okay, he didn't expect it to happen again, but when it did he thought maybe, just maybe it was okay? Maybe Tyler told Jenna? And... Fuck. Okay, maybe he just imagined everything. Made himself see what he wanted! But for Tyler to just.. ignore him? It fucking hurts. It leaves his insides empty and aching from the weight of his stupid fucking mistakes, from the loss of his friend and the mixed fucking signals and the complete failure of it all. And how do you move on from this?

He thinks of that moth at soundcheck, flying with complete determination, over and over, into the same impenetrable light.

And really, what is the fucking point?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've been around since the beginning, or you're only just stumbling onto this, thank you so much for reading! You guys have all been the best and so supportive! One more chapter and we're done, folks! Eeep!


End file.
